


My Dark Bird

by timebean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timebean/pseuds/timebean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some conversations between Cullen and my canon character...a cool and somewhat unforgiving lady-mage who calls herself Ciara (pronounced Shee-rah). Angsty bits from the whole forbidden mage+Templar pairing. </p><p>Scenes are spread throughout the game (e.g., not a retelling of the game...just moments).  I will add chapters here and there and try to keep the narrative generally linear.  Hope you enjoy!</p><p>All characters belong to Bioware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

Cullen paced in the small room.

His arm was sore, though the healer had done an excellent job digging the arrow out of his shoulder and knitting the skin back together. It was supposedly healed, but between the sleepless nights and hectic days that followed, the dull ache was still present. The loss of so many good men in the mountain pass still troubled him, though, as Cassandra was quick to point out, they had already recruited many new men to replace them.

In fact, recruits were practically lining up outside the door.

The closing of the breach had been a remarkable sight. Cullen and his men were stationed at the far end of the valley, so they were not direct witnesses to the event. It didn’t matter. The entire village of Haven watched the great tear in the sky miraculously close, and the loud boom that accompanied it echoed throughout the valley. The cheers that followed were just as loud, though Cullen had not joined the others in their revelry. He had been too busy aiding his fallen comrades.

The green cloud still lingered, casting its sickly shadow over Haven. Cullen knew they were far from safe.

The mage responsible had finally wakened, healed of the injuries she sustained at the nexus of the breach. News of what happened spread throughout Haven and beyond, and the people were already calling her the Herald of Andraste. Leliana and her agents had been steadily working that angle to garner support and gather more men for their recently formed organization.

Cullen wasn’t sure how he felt about such blatant propaganda, but he couldn’t argue with the results.

The Inquisition was reformed. Cullen nailed the proclamation to the door of the Chantry himself, surrounded by murmurs of dissent and awe. He felt something strange in that moment, the last hammer blow ringing with a sound of finality. As a Templar (ex-Templar, her reminded himself), he received one of the best educations in Thedas. He knew history, realized that the Templar order was the descendent of the original Inquisition. It seemed some sort of cruel jest that someone so recently disenchanted by the Templar order was now a co-founder of the very group in which it originated.

He had that moment of revelation when Cassandra first informed him of her plan. He felt as if destiny were opening up to him, as if the Maker had finally lead him to his true calling. Once that feeling passed, however, he was left with the true prospect of their ambitions.

This would be no easy task.

Cassandra had convened a meeting to formally accept the mage into the Inquisition. Cullen had his doubts about her, still not completely convinced that she was not somehow responsible for it all in the first place. But both Cassandra and Leliana seemed assuaged by the mage’s story. He would reserve his judgment on the matter until he had a chance to speak with her himself.

Cullen rubbed the back of his head, continuing to pace.

Josephine walked in, the smell of jasmine and candlewax alerting him to her presence. “Are you nervous, Commander?”

Cullen stopped pacing, answering the Antivan noblewoman with a roll of his eyes. “Hardly. I _have_ met the woman already.”

“I would hardly call barking at her in the midst of battle a proper meeting, Commander.” Leliana’s voice drifted in through doorway.

Cullen straightened his shoulders as she entered, noting how her pale blue eyes glinted beneath her shadowy hood. He was slightly offended at her remark. “I did not _bark_ at her. I merely made it clear that if my men were being slaughtered for nothing, I would see to it that she was held accountable. I still hold to that conviction.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow at that. “You are not convinced of her innocence?”

Cullen shrugged. “I am not the one who questioned her.”

Leliana’s blue eyes darkened. “I believe, Commander, that I am fully capable of making such decisions. I am no stranger to deceit. The mage is innocent.”

Josephine nodded in agreement, her voice eagerly attempting to broker a peace between the spymaster and commander. “Though I have not spoken to her directly, I have reviewed the same report as you, Commander. The account, while unbelievable, has the ring of truth to it. Our own Seeker was there and beheld the vision at the rift. Surely you do not believe that Leliana or Cassandra would jeopardize our position by allowing a viper in our midst.”

Cullen almost growled. “No…just an unknown mage.”

Leliana crossed her arms, looking at him angrily. “Oh? What a pity, Commander. I thought perhaps you had outgrown your youthful prejudices.”

Cullen looked at her sharply, his cheeks coloring. He knew her reference went beyond his ties to the Templars. She had been very vocal regarding her distrust of him when Cassandra recruited him in Kirkwall. At first, he could not understand why…until he found out who she traveled with during the Ferelden Blight.

Surana. Renowned mage and Hero of Ferelden. She was loved by many, praised by many more…and Cullen’s last words to her had been nothing short of a curse.

He could not blame Leliana for disliking him. He spent many years regretting his cruelty to that particular mage, the last words he spoke to her often playing through his mind. Leliana’s keen powers of observation and sharp memory knew just what to say to shut his mouth on the subject. He obliged her and remained silent, having no wish to reopen old wounds…for either of them. Surana was dead, and Cullen closed the door on that part of his life long ago. He would not try to justify himself to anyone, least of all someone who was with her when she died. He did not think he would come out of such an exchange on the winning side.

The door opened. Cassandra entered, followed by the so-called Herald of Andraste.

The mage wore a simple robe of pale grey with a red satin belt that draped across both hips and crisscrossed on her lower waist. Her staff was made from dark cherry wood, almost black, embossed with inlays of what appeared to be ebony. It was shorter than a typical mage’s staff, fitting neatly in a black scabbard at her side…almost as one would carry a long sword. The top of the staff had been carved into the head of a bird, two pale blue stones inset into the eyes. Cullen found the image slightly disturbing.

Cullen looked at her closely. She was tall and slender, her arms appearing at first a little too long for her body. She had long chestnut hair that reached almost to her elbows, braided loosely and draped across one arm to lay against her chest. Her eyebrows were thick, but feminine, and her skin was fair without being pale. She had rather angular features, a sharp jawline and a long, slender nose. Her cheekbones were high and curved and her lips were full, her bottom lip slightly thicker than the upper one.

She carried herself in a rather proud manner, her shoulders back and her head held high, her chin slightly lifted. She did not fidget or shift as Cassandra introduced her. Instead, she kept her hands calmly at her sides, turning her head slowly and nodding slightly to each of them in turn.

Ciara. Cullen had been pronouncing her name as it appeared in his reports. But Cassandra introduced her as “Shee-rah”. Cullen was surprised…her name sounded more like a Dalish word than a proper Ferelden name. He knew from her files that she was from one of the Ferelden Circles, but her true origins were a mystery. It was entirely possible that one of her parents was an elf, since elven features hide behind human ones in those couplings.

“Ciara, I would like you to meet Commander Cullen, leader of our forces.” When she turned towards him, Cullen noticed that although her eyes were rather small and unremarkable, her gaze was very direct. Her eyes were grey, the color of the sky before a storm, but and had a cool quality to them that Cullen did not like at first.

She nodded to him, her eyes betraying nothing.

He spoke. “Such as they are. We lost many men in the valley, and I fear more before this is over.”

He expected some kind of response, a flicker of recognition. Instead, those grey eyes simply stared back at him impassively. He found it rather unnerving and was a little offended that she offered no words to acknowledge what he said.  

He studied her just as she studied him. It struck him that her cool eyes were like a lake frozen over in winter. One false step, and you were trapped under ice.

Cullen had never been one to take foolish risks. He found that he did not care much for the mage.

After the introductions were made, they began discussing their next move. Leliana and Cassandra were both in agreement that they needed power for the mark and should approach the rebel mages for support. When Cullen disagreed, citing his own experience as a Templar, he finally heard her speak.

“You are a Templar?” Her voice held no emotion, as far as he could tell, yet it seemed like the temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees.

Cassandra answered for him. “Commander Cullen was the Knight Commander in Kirkwall before being recruited into the Inquisition. He was in charge of restoring order there after the mage rebellion and has excellent military and tactical skills.”

He looked at her as she processed the new information, eager to see any signs of her disdain and preparing himself for her censure. Instead, he was surprised when she merely listened and then responded calmly, “I see.”

Cullen did not know what to think of her.

Cassandra explained that the common people were already referring to her as the Herald of Andraste. When she did not respond, he spoke up, determined to get some sort of reaction from her. “That is quite the title. How do you feel about that?”

She turned her head towards him slowly, her eyebrows creasing down in what he assumed was disdain, although it was hard to be certain. “I have never been affected by the names bestowed on me by others, Commander. I am no Herald as far as I know.”

He smiled slightly at that, surprised by her answer. “I am sure the Chantry would agree.”

She did not return his smile. “Do they intend to attack?”

“With what? They have only words at their disposal. And, as you say, words can do little.”

Josephine spoke up. “That is a naïve opinion, Commander. They may bury us with words if we are not careful. We must act swiftly.”

While Leliana and the others discussed gathering Chantry support, Cullen watched the mage closely. Her face remained impassive, her hands never leaving her sides. Cullen was not sure how serious or even how engaged she was with anything that was happening. Her face was as stoic as a soldier in file, betraying nothing. He found it frustrating.

The others had stopped talking, waiting for her response.

She leaned down over the table, taking her time. She spoke without looking up at them. “I am no tactician, but it seems like your agents are already in position to defend the refugee camp. Send them a message to do so and I can travel there and seek out this Mother Giselle.” She stood, a slight dimple appearing in her cheek. Cullen realized it was the beginnings of smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “I am not sure how happy she will be to parlay with a mage, but then again, when is anyone?” She did not look at Cullen when she said this, but he had a sense she was watching him nonetheless.

Cassandra spoke up. “She may be more receptive than you expect, given her circumstances.”

Ciara’s dimple remained. “Yes…desperation may do much of our work for us.”

Cullen was somewhat surprised by the coolness of her tone. Perhaps he had underestimated her.

A dangerous thing to do, when a mage was involved.

<<>>

Cullen found it difficult to sleep, the ache in his arm making any position his bed uncomfortable. He finally gave up completely, pulling on his pants and shirt. He decided to take a look again at the notes his lieutenant had written up regarding the new recruits. There were several positions that needed to be filled immediately, and he realized that getting an early start on it might make his day run more smoothly.

The Chantry was generally quiet at this hour, with only occasional whispers filtering through the wide hall. The only light was from the soft flickering of candles, and much of the hall was in shadow. He heard shuffling and saw a thin band of light from a partially opened door just off the main hall. Out of curiosity, he walked towards it to investigate and realized it was the Chantry library, which was normally sealed by the sisters until morning.  

He saw the mage standing in front of one of the bookshelves, her back to him. Judging by her posture, she was reading a large and rather heavy book. She had placed a candle on the shelf above her head and it cast a soft golden light around her, illuminating her in the dark room. He noticed that her hair was down, lying on her back and shoulders in soft waves, the candlelight bringing out the subtle reddish hues that he hadn’t noticed before.

She seemed relaxed for the first time in their brief acquaintance. Her head was slightly cocked to one side and she was using one of her fingers to trace over the words on the pages. She seemed to be either humming to herself or mumbling, but her voice was so soft that it was difficult to hear. He noticed her feet where bare. She was using one to scratch her calf, her grey robe moving up and down as she ran her toes along the back of her leg.

He cleared his throat.

She dropped the book on the floor, spinning around towards him, her eyes opened wide in surprise. The sound of the book hitting the floor echoed in the quiet room, startling them both.

“You know, it is not a good idea to place a candle so near books.” He stepped towards her.

She backed up a step, her back hitting the bookshelf. “Stay back.” Her voice was soft but firm.

Cullen stopped, completely puzzled by her response. “I… came this way because I heard a sound.” He noticed she was breathing rapidly, her eyes still wide.

“I did not mean to disturb you.” Her voice had gained some composure, though Cullen noticed that both of her hands were gripped into tight fists. He realized suddenly that she was frightened of him, though he had no idea what he could have done to affect her so.

He stepped toward her again, meaning only to calm her.

Her reaction startled him. She pushed back against the bookshelf, raising her hands defensively against his approach. The candle fell when her body rocked the shelf, the light disappearing and shrouding her in darkness. Her voice gained in volume. “I said do not come near me, Templar.”

He stopped, holding up his own hands.

 _Templar_.

He spoke gruffly, annoyed at both her fear of him as well as her accusatory tone. “I only came this way because I heard a noise. I mean you no harm.”

He could not see her clearly, but he heard the fabric of her robe move as she crossed her arms. “Then let me pass.”

He furrowed his brows, angry that she assumed he was trying to hold her in the room against her will. Keeping his hands up, he stepped to the side, giving her a clear exit.

She kept to the shadows, watching him. Tired of this folly, he dropped his hands, sighing loudly. “We are on the same side. I said I would not harm you and I meant it. What would you have me do…swear to it?”

He could hear her breathing, and wished he could see her face. She did not answer right away.

He was just getting ready to turn and leave when she spoke. “You were in Kirkwall, during the mage uprising?”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for her scrutiny. “Yes. As Cassandra told you, I was the Knight Captain under Commander Meredith.”

“I heard she was a madwoman, a tyrant. It is said her actions resulted in the mage rebellion.”

Cullen clenched his jaw. “The mage Anders started the rebellion by blowing up the Chantry. Many died because of his actions. It seems to me that mages and explosions go hand in hand these days.”

Her sharp intake of breath sounded like a hiss in the darkness. “Are you accusing me, Commander?”

He crossed his own arms, mirroring her stance. “No. I am simply responding to you in kind. Your accusatory tone displays your prejudice against me because I was a Templar, so why can I not assume _you_ are complicit in the acts of other mages?”

“I lived my entire life a prisoner of the Jainen Circle and have seen little of the world. You were the subordinate of madwomen who drove a city to ruin, were you not? My prejudices have teeth.”

He squared his shoulders. “This is a pointless argument. There were hostilities between mages and templars long before I arrived in Kirkwall. And I did not stand with Meredith in the end. I am no longer a Templar. My allegiance is to the Inquisition.”

“As is mine, Commander.”

“Perhaps. But your past is not as transparent as mine, and thus you have an unfair advantage in assigning guilt.”

“Whereas you can cast suspicion on me simply because I am an unknown?”

“Until I know you better, I cannot be certain of your true intentions.”

“How many mages did you kill when you were a Templar?” She delivered her question in the same soft but firm voice she had been using the entire conversation. He suspected she switched subjects so quickly to unbalance him.

He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm his anger. “My sins are my own, my lady. I do not have to share them with someone I barely know and hardly trust.”

She was quiet. Finally, she moved out of the shadows, making her way to the door. When she stepped into the dim light, she paused for a moment and he saw that her grey eyes were full of barely contained contempt. “Then do not expect me to trust you with my secrets either, Templar.” With that she quickly left the room, her bare feet moving soundlessly down the darkened hall.

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He walked over to the book shelf and picked up the candle. Relighting it, he looked at the large volume she had dropped, half expecting her to have found some strange arcane book in the Chantry library. He was surprised when he read the cover. It was the first volume of the Pursuit of Knowledge by Brother Genetivi, filled with his descriptions of Dalish culture. He flipped it over and saw that she had been reading his translation of a Dalish lullaby.  

Shaking his head, he placed it back on the shelf. He realized the room had grown cold and, suddenly exhausted, he decided to return to his room and seek the solace of sleep.

<<>>

Ciara was struggling to catch her breath by the time she found her room. It had taken every bit of her self-control not to run. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence had really upset her.

She sat on her bed, drawing her knees up to her chin. The room was cold, but she didn’t bother stoking the fire. The cold would keep her alert.

She felt like a fool for letting him sneak up on her like that. After all those years in the tower, she had always been cautious, always careful that she was never alone in a room, especially after dark. She had learned to blend into shadows when she heard boots on stone, to move quickly and quietly through the hallways when she heard their voices.

The past few weeks had softened her, as mad as that seemed considering she had fought demons and closed rifts. It was the price she paid for freedom. She had been out from under guard for too long, and she had lost her edge.

She had to get it back, especially since _he_ was here.

She would never have agreed to join them had she known a Templar was in their ranks. She could have disappeared, turned apostate and hidden. She thought about it even now, wondering if she could survive on her own.

She looked down at her hand, the flickers of green light dancing along her palm as if it could feel her gaze. She clenched her fist tightly.

She couldn’t run, not when so much was at stake. The world was falling apart and she actually had a chance to do something more than hide in dark hallways.

She laid down, curling into a tight ball, letting the cool night air fall over her. She would remain alert and strong. The Inquisition stood apart from the Chantry, apart from the Templar order. She finally had a chance to have a life.

She would not let that bastard Templar take that from her.


	2. Nadas

Cullen watched as Solas and Ciara dismounted from their horses. He motioned to his men to help Mother Giselle from hers. The old woman and the mage shared a few brief words, and Cullen was somewhat shocked when Ciara bowed to the old woman before entering the Chantry.

Cullen knew from his reports that the mission had been a success. He was surprised at Ciara’s resourcefulness. For a Circle mage with little experience of the world, she was surprisingly adept at creating alliances. The warmth that seemed to exist between her and the old woman was not what he expected to see upon their return. He wondered how genuine the mage’s intentions truly were, considering her obvious disdain for the Chantry.

 _Perhaps it is only the Templars she despises_ , he thought. _Or perhaps only me._

He had spent the past few weeks slowly gathering information about her past. She had been in the Circle of Magi in Jainen most of her life, as she said. What records were still accessible indicated she had a proficiency in the manipulation of ice and water, though the notes suggested she had unique skills that had not been fully tested at the time of the Circle’s fall.

Her participation in the Conclave had apparently been hotly debated among the senior enchanters. According to the notes he could find, she was to appear as some sort of witness, though there was no clear answer as to what sort of evidence she would present nor against whom.

The materials he gathered left more questions than answers. He was determined to confront her about it. After all, if she was to be a part of the Inquisition, they must prepare for whatever might come out about her.

Of course, that is what he told himself. He secretly looked forward to confronting her and having the upper hand, for once.

He sat patiently in the common room through dinner, only half listening as Varric told of their adventures in the Hinterlands. Ciara spoke quietly the whole time to Solas, and Cullen wished often that the dwarf would be quiet so that he could overhear what they were saying. But it was to no avail.

After dinner, he was surprised to find her once again in the library. This time, she had several candles lit and was sitting calmly in a chair facing the door. When he entered, she did not look up at him.

“Commander” she said, quite serenely, as she continued to flip pages.

He walked over to the bookcase and started browsing, wondering how he should begin the conversation. Picking a book at random, he sat in a chair near the fire, careful to give her clear access to the door should she wish it. He noticed she was pursuing the same large tome she had been reading the last time. He flipped through the pages of his own book, finally clearing his throat to speak.

“Are you fond of Dalish songs?” He knew it sounded forced, but he had no idea how else to begin speaking to her.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask me that?” He motioned to the book in her lap. She glanced down at it, then back up to him. “You do not care what I am interested in, Commander. Please say what you mean to say so that we don’t have to speak to one another any longer than is necessary.”

He was put off by her tone, but decided to plunge ahead anyway. “Alright then. Why were you at the Conclave?”

She did not blink. “I already answered Cassandra’s questions about this. Did you not get the report?”

He sighed, closing his book. “You were not entirely honest. I know you were there to act as some sort of witness. I would have you explain this.”

Her eyes did not leave his, though they narrowed slightly. “Are you calling me a liar, Commander?”

“Omission is a form of deceit. Take that as you will.”

“I am no liar.”

“Then why leave that part out of your story?”

“It was not a relevant detail. You really don’t want to pursue this, Commander. My tale will bring you more pain than it will me.”

Everything about her bothered him, the way she spoke, held her body, cast her cool eyes on him. It was a form of detachment so severe that he couldn’t seem to find his footing when conversing with her. Her eyes never betrayed what she was thinking and her voice never quite matched her words. He tolerated it before, but it only angered him now.

“Bullshit.” He blurted the word out unintentionally, but did both bother to apologize.

She closed her book, placing it gently on the stand next to her table. She stood and crossed her arms, looking down at him with a sudden intensity that was out of character for her. “I will answer your questions, Templar. Not because I care whether you think me a liar or not, but because I think you need to know. I think you need to hear the truth and feel the sting of it.”

She walked to the far end of the room and poured a glass of wine. She sipped it slowly, then walked back and sat in the chair directly in front of him. She swirled the wine in the glass, staring into its depths. The firelight danced off her grey eyes.

“Alright. Let me answer your first question. Yes, I like Dalish music. When I was brought to the Jainen Circle, my closest friend was a Dalish elf named Suhlana. Do you know what Suhlana means in elvish, Commander?

He shook his head.

She continued staring at her wine. “It means song. She sang to me at night, as I lay terrified in that black place. She would brush my hair and tell me tales of her homeland.”

She leaned back and turned her head towards the fire. Cullen noticed that her eyes had softened somewhat. He also noticed that her cheeks were red and wondered just how much wine she had already drank. “She had red hair, the color of fire, and freckles across the bridge of her nose.” She held up her own hand and looked it. “And long, delicate fingers. She would braid my hair sometimes, always singing. She was older than me, only by a few years, but she knew many tales. She had a wisdom beyond her years, and magic about her that went far deeper than what any mage can draw from the Fade.” She dropped her hand and looked back at the fire.

Her eyes were far away. “She was a rare light in that darkness, and was the closest thing I had to a sister.”

Cullen’s shoulders tensed. He knew something terrible was coming, but he was determined to hear it through. He did, after all, force her into this retelling. “You loved her?”

Her eyes shifted to him. “Mages are not people, Commander. Would you even believe me if I said I did?”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

 _Damn Varric!_ He wondered just how much the dwarf had told her about him during their adventures in the Hinterlands. Clearly, her low opinion of him was thoroughly decided. He was a dreaded Templar, without conscience or feeling.

“I was not a happy man when I spoke those words, and I regret them now. You need not spew them back at me. I am an older, wiser man than I was.”

She stared at him for a long moment and then looked back towards the fire, continuing her tale. “After Suhlana passed her Harrowing, the Templars began to notice her. She was beautiful, and Templars can bear no beautiful thing to grow within their walls. They ripped her from my arms, one night. There were three of them. Muffling her screams, they dragged her from my room, locking me within. I beat upon the door, but could do nothing.” She looked up at him. “Magic does not work on doors in the Jainen Circle. Did you know that?”

Cullen shook his head. He felt like the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees. She continued speaking. “When Suhlana returned, she said nothing. She could only cry. She cried and I held her and I sang to her…and I _hated_ them.” Her last words came out as an angry whisper, the words almost hissing through her teeth.

Ciara looked back into the fire. “We told the First Enchanter, but he could not help us. He told us to be careful, to try to avoid the Templars when we could. He was weak, always scurrying to gain favor with the Knight Commander. And he did not want us to cause trouble.” She sniffed in disdain. “But there was nothing we could do. Our rooms were our cells, and we could not avoid them at night. When next they came, she tried to fight them. She could call fire from the Fade, and she scorched their hands when they tried to take her.”

She took a drink of her wine, still not looking at him. “They accused her of blood magic and she was made tranquil.”

Cullen took a sharp intake of breath. She delivered her last words with a coolness that filled the room. Cullen spoke, his voice full of anger at the injustice. “And so they brought you to the Conclave, in the hopes you would present testimony of these crimes?”

When she looked at him, she looked truly stunned at first. Then she laughed. It was long and angry and there was no mirth in it. “Are you really so naïve? Do you honestly believe they would consider that a _crime_? She was a mage and an elf. She had no rights, Commander.”

Cullen was confused. “But why…”

“Why did I tell you this? Perhaps I thought you should know of the depravities of those you would call brothers. Perhaps I wanted you to understand why I took that dangerous journey to Haven. Perhaps I wanted to wipe that fucking superior look off of your face.”

Cullen stood, his blood boiling. “You have no right to blame me for the actions of others, mage.”

She stood, her face composed but her eyes cutting through him. Demanding. Accusing. “I was answering your first question, Commander. Do you want the answer to the other, or has your courage failed you?”

He moved away from her, his first instinct to leave the woman to her dark tale. Instead, he walked over to the decanter and a poured his own glass of wine, determined to calm himself. “I will hear your answer to my question. Why did you go to the Conclave?”

Ciara walked to the fire, her back to him, the length of the room separating them. Cullen was glad of the distance. Her anger felt like a dark cloud that threatened to fill the room. “What happened to Suhlana happened when I was very young, just on the precipice of becoming a woman. They moved her to the servants’ quarters and I did not see her for many months. One night, I was lonely and so I crept down to the basement to find her. When I came to her room, a Templar was with her. I watched them from the doorway, watched as he…had his way with her. Her eyes were…serene. Passive. She even looked up at me over his shoulder. And she…she… _smiled_.”

She turned back to Cullen, her eyes haunted. “Do you understand what I am saying to you, Commander? She was not there. My friend…the woman who comforted me with her songs and her stories, the woman who had a fire in her that could warm you just to be near her…she was gone. They killed her. And they were allowed to keep _using_ her."

Cullen felt sick. He had heard tales of such depravities, but never anything quite as terrible as this.

Ciara continued to stare at him. “So, I did what needed to done. Because I loved her. Because she could never sing again and she could never live again. I went down to her basement cell in the black of night and I smothered her in her sleep.” She delivered her words with no remorse.

Cullen’s mouth dropped open. “You…killed her?”

Ciara’s gaze did not falter, her voice maintaining its cool detachment. “She was already dead, Commander. I just stopped the Templars from defiling her body.”

Cullen took a long drink from his goblet, probing his own feelings on what she had just told him. He was no stranger to the effects of the Rite of Tranquility. He wondered what he would have done, given the same circumstances, but found it hard to justify murder.

Almost as if she sensed his thoughts, her voice softened. “Have you any siblings, Commander?”

He looked up at her. “Yes. A sister and two brothers.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Given the choice between death and a life of mindless slavery, which would you choose for your sister?”

Cullen frowned. “Tranquil mages are not mindless. They have no emotions, but they still have thought. A tranquil mage can still have purpose in this world. Their lives still have value.”

She looked at him with such coldness, that Cullen felt as if he had been slapped. “A mule has value, Commander. Have you ever loved a mule? Has a mule ever loved you?”

Cullen felt his face heat up. “Do not speak to me as if I were a child! The worth of a human life is not something I take lightly. Life itself is precious, a gift from the Maker. Children are born every day with imperfections and some will never be more than simpletons their entire lives, and yet we do not kill them out of hand. It is barbaric.”

She started pacing, and Cullen was surprised to see her actually animated. “You dare speak to me of barbarism! What is the Rite of Tranquility if not a barbaric act? To sever a person from the Fade, to cut them off from their dreams, their emotions, from the very essence of their own humanity. Life is more than flesh and blood and bone, Commander. A tranquil mage is nothing more than animated flesh. They are worse than abominations, who at least have some…driving force behind them!” She stopped pacing, closing her eyes to calm herself.

Cullen rubbed his forehead. “I was not suggesting that tranquility is a good thing. I simply…find it difficult to accept your rather heartless account of what I can only call murder.”

She regarded him coolly, her impassive mask firmly in place again. “If you choose to see me as heartless, so be it. It was the last moment of my childhood, Commander. I had never ridden a horse or swam in a river or kissed a boy. And my first action as an adult, the first moral decision I made as a human being, was to end the life of my own sister.”

She turned away from him. Her voice was soft, but clear. “Do not be fooled by the tenor of my retelling, Commander. The ease with which I now speak of it is but a whisper over a lifetime of pain.”

She stood staring into the fire and Cullen was lost in his own thoughts. After a time, he spoke. “What happened after you killed her?”

She shrugged. “There was no trial, nor even any real acknowledgment of what happened. The Circle mages found her, the Knight Commander ordered her to be burned, and nothing more was said. It was the final insult, to deny her the proper funeral rites of her own people.” She took another drink of wine. “I gathered her ashes after, and buried them. I sang a song for her, as the Dalish do. And it was done.”

Cullen rubbed his temples. The story was terrible…yet Ciara had not shed a single tear. She looked at him with a calm countenance, waiting for him to respond. He rolled his shoulders, determined to have an answer to his original question. “As you said, it was not this story that brought you to the Conclave. I need to know why you went. There was some…it seems from the records that the other mages debated your involvement.”

“Of course they did. Travelling to the Conclave was dangerous. Several of the senior mages felt that a written account would serve just as well as my presence. In the end…I volunteered to go.”

“What was your story? What happened to you?”

She looked at him a long moment, as if deciding something. “My story is my own. But I will give you my testimony, Templar.” She drained the last of her wine and placed the empty glass on the mantelpiece. Then with a silent nod to herself, she began unwrapping her red belt.

When he realized what she was doing, Cullen was shocked. “What are you…?”

She interrupted him, continuing to disrobe. Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. “After all these years, I still bear the marks. After all these years, it was these marks that carried me from Jainen to Haven, to show the Chantry priests at the conclave. To show them what life in a Circle tower really means.”

She turned away from him, gathering her hair together and pulling it across her shoulder. Then she lowered the robe so that he could see the skin of her back. She spoke to the fire, her voice full of anger. “It was neither my actions, nor my heartache, nor Suhlana’s life that mattered to the mages who asked for my testimony. It is my body they wanted, my flesh that bears witness to the cruelty of the Templars.”

He felt his stomach lurch at the sight of her skin. The terrible scars across her back almost pulsated in the light of the fire. Streaks of bright blue crisscrossed over her back, jagged and dark and deep. He could see them clearly, but could not imagine what type of torture would result in such marks.

She turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder. “They dipped the whip in lyrium, Commander. The scars will never heal.”

Cullen swallowed the bile that had formed in his throat. She continued speaking. “Everyone died before I could show them. They all died and now these marks are no use to anyone. I wanted to show them the abuses we suffered. I wanted what happened to Suhlana to mean something. And it doesn’t.” She laughed, and he realized tears were falling down her face. She pulled the robe back over her shoulders, roughly wiping her cheek with back of her hand. She turned back towards him, tying the robe in place. “And now, Commander, now that you have seen my testimony, I will let you be the judge of it. To be honest, I no longer care.”

He dropped his eyes, staring at the floor. When he spoke, it was without thought. The words simply rushed from him, like a breath he had been holding for far too long.

“I have suffered terrible things as well, my lady. I was caged and tortured at the Circle tower in Ferelden. All of my friends were killed and I was forced to watch them die.” His voice sounded hollow. He looked up at her and saw she was staring at him impassively. “Blood-mages. They killed mages and Templars alike, without question, without care, without remorse. It was horrible. They used their filthy methods to turn my own thoughts against me. I survived, but it has haunted me for years. And though I have no scars to show it, I…have the memories…and the nightmares. And I hated all mages for a time, though I justified it in many different ways…but it was hatred, pure and simple. I know that now and I have done all in my power to overcome it.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, suddenly exhausted. “You do not have to prove to me that your mistrust is justified. I have felt a similar hatred, and it is not easy to let go of, not when it seems that justice is impossible. But I urge you to try to move on, to find some measure of peace. ”

Her eyebrows rose at that. “I am not full of hate. Not anymore. And even if I were, I would not bother seeking either peace or justice in a world such as this.” She turned away from him, bending down to grab her book. “I simply answered your question, nothing more. I do not need your advice for how I should feel about it.”

He let out a rueful laugh and then shook his head when she looked at him angrily. “Forgive me. I just…I think perhaps you do.” He drained his glass and held it in his hand, looking down at it to avoid looking at her. “I was luckier than you. I was rescued, in the end. After days of endless torture, a woman I knew…a mage…came to my aid. She was…a singular person. She saved me. And then I cursed her.”

She raised her eyebrow at that. “How so?”

He shrugged, placing the glass down on the table and looking up at her. “I had loved her once, or…I don’t know, I was so young…maybe I simply admired her, or idealized her. Either way, the blood mages used my feelings for her against me. When she arrived in the flesh, I didn’t believe it was her. And even after she convinced me, I still cursed her. I told her she was not a person. That she and all her kind should be killed to spare others what my brothers and I had endured.” He dropped his head. “Much later, I bitterly regretted my words to her. But it didn’t matter. She died before I could…make amends.”

She cleared her throat, her voice calm but firm. “Perhaps…perhaps it is enough that you regret it.”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the floor but seeing nothing. “I regret it _now_. But…when I heard of her death…at the time, I was not sorry. I was angry for a long time. And I didn’t even mourn her passing, even though she died saving others, even though she was an extraordinary woman who deserved nothing but praise. And that…that is what I regret more than my words. I regret how long I let that anger consume me. I regret the years I let it take from me.”

He looked up at her. “Thus, you should heed my advice. For what it is worth.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I will consider your words, Commander.”

He looked at her seriously. “I do not wish us to be enemies, my lady. We have both suffered at the hands of others. We are both haunted by what others have done to us…as well as by our own actions. It seems to me that the similarities of our stories can perhaps provide common ground on which to build some…semblance of trust.”

Tucking the book under her arm, she shrugged. “Our revelations have done little, Commander, save illustrate the inevitable. _Nadas_ , as Suhlana would say.” She cocked her head slightly, her eyes for a brief moment betraying a hint of sadness. “I cannot ever trust you. Just as you can never trust me. Some other Templar, some other mage…maybe friendship or trust could exist between them. I hope so, for the good of this realm. But not for you and I.” She straightened her shoulders, her voice firm. ”So let us accept that and move on.”

Cullen simply looked at her. His own pain was mirrored in her eyes. He truly wanted to acknowledge this connection between them, the pain that they both shared. But he realized, watching her features draw back into her cool mask, that her impenetrability was a necessity, born from a need to keep herself safe from others as well as detached from her own pain. Cullen understood that. He too had shunned the solace of his Templar brothers after Kinloch. His isolation was in part a defense against having to fully face his own prejudices.

Neither of them could risk upsetting the delicate barriers they had erected around themselves to survive.

He bowed slightly and she tilted her head, leaving the room. Cullen moved near the fire and watched it burn until nothing remained but embers.


	3. Snow

Cullen’s boots crunched the snow as he walked. The sound was pleasant to him, as was the chilly afternoon air. He had been stuffed in his solar for hours, answering missives and coordinating the arrival of Redcliffe’s mages. Despite their new alliance, their journey was fraught with difficulties as they travelled through the hostile Ferelden countryside.

It was good to be outside.

The chantry was quieter than usual. The cold kept most inside and the afternoon was filled with the constant drip of melting snow. Cullen was convinced this was the end of bad weather, the clear sky heralding the onset of spring. Though, nestled in the mountains that surrounded Haven, one could never be too certain.

Looking up at the sky, he decided that he would gladly suffer an endless winter if it meant the end of the breach.

He heard laughter ahead of him. His good mood was lightened even further as he realized it was children, likely enjoying the last of the snow. He smiled as he approached the sound, but his smile faltered somewhat as the scene came into view.

Ciara was standing in the middle of the children, her ebony staff held high above her head. The children were dancing around her and at first, he was unsure why. Then, he saw the ground around them erupt in miniature geysers, the children shrieking with laughter as they ran to jump in them and be lifted a few feet off the ground, surrounded by swirling snow.

Cullen held his breath, his first instinct to stop this. Using magic in such way around small, non-mage children was not something he agreed with. They needed to learn that magic was not something to be trusted and, barring that, at least not something to be taken lightly. Especially considering their camp would soon be full of mages and too few Templars.

Before he could move closer, a hand touched his shoulder. He turned and saw that Dorian stood slightly behind him, his deep golden skin glowing in the cold, his breath fogging the air in front of his smiling face. Dorian’s voice carried that smile, and Cullen noted a hint of awe as he spoke. “She is magnificent, isn’t she?”

Cullen started to respond, but instead, turned back to the scene before him. Ciara’s long chestnut hair lay in waves around her shoulders, glittering with snow dust. Her nose and cheeks were red and her eyes sparkled with delight as she watched the children. She wore a long winter robe, grey velvet with a deep grey lining of thick fur. Her hands were gloved in red leather and the bottom of her scarlet robe peaked out from beneath the warmer fabric.

Cullen continued to watch her. Her eyes were a deep grey, almost the color of her robe. He had been accosted by that steel grey stare enough to know that the color added a coolness to her countenance. Her eyes reminded him of a sword in the darkness, a pair of blades that drank in the night. When her dark eyebrows drew down in consternation, those grey eyes seemed to slice through him, merciless and unforgiving.

The woman before seemed a different creature to the one he was accustomed to. Her grey eyes were shining, a mixture of life and softness pouring out of them. She almost glowed in the midst of the snow and laughing children, her lips creating the first smile he had ever seen from the woman.

Dorian was right. She was magnificent.

The mage removed his hand from Cullen’s shoulder and walked forward so they were side by side. “In Tevinter, she would have been a queen. Men would have courted her fiercely for her beauty and her skills. Her magic is so beautiful, so rare.” The mage sighed loudly. “Here, she has had to hide her talents, always ashamed of who she is. It is only now that she is beginning to wake up, to come to life. It is a marvelous thing to see.”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. “Magic is dangerous, Dorian. It can lead to terrible things if it is not checked.”

Dorian looked at him, his eyes suddenly bitter. “Ahh yes, the southern philosophy. I almost forgot where I was for a moment.” He sighed loudly. “Life is a marvel, my friend. _All life_. The Maker gives a rare and wonderful gift to this woman, and you insist she must be ashamed of her very nature.”

“Not ashamed. Only cautious.”

Dorian shook his head. “The Maker has blessed you with strength and endurance. Can you not remember running as fast as you could as a child? Jumping, climbing, and yelling as loud as your lungs allowed you? Imagine now that you your whole life, you were forced to run at only half your speed, your legs weighted down so that you could never jump too high nor swim too far. Imagine that, Commander.”

Cullen shook his head. “It is not that simple and you know it. I know what the Circle does to mages. I have actually been there, seen it. It is a necessity, despite its faults. Mages have difficulties beyond anything we do, whatever their intentions. They cannot be allowed the freedoms of non-mages because the world holds for them terrible temptations with terrible consequences that go far beyond themselves.”

He rubbed his forehead, tired of this same, tedious argument. He looked back at Ciara, his voice softening. “If she were to use her power without thought, even for a moment, she could destroy an entire village. If she were to love or desire anything, her fear of losing it could expose her to the whispering of demons. Look at Alexius. Fear of losing his son almost drove the world to ruin. She must always be cautious, always reserved, and always alone in this world. She know this, and accepts it. Why can’t you?”

Dorian was silent for a moment. “Because I want to be alive… _truly_ alive. Don’t you?”

Cullen shrugged. “Perhaps I did once. Now, I am content to do my duty and guard my heart.” His brows furrowed at his own words and his cheeks were suddenly burning.

_Maker, why did I say that?_

Dorian looked at him sharply. His expression softened and an annoyingly _knowing_ look spread across his features. “The world grows more fragile each day, Commander. The very sky around us is ripping apart. Live while you have the chance, my friend.”

Cullen turned and walked back towards the keep, too troubled to answer.


	4. Grief

The keep was somber this evening. Despite their escape from Haven, and finding Skyhold as a refuge, the events of the past few weeks still lingered in the people. Cullen could see its effect rippling out in a wave of silence that descended on the hall like a shroud. Even the near constant sound of hammering seemed dulled by the oppressive silence that had somehow wrapped itself around the very stone.

Cullen was upset, though he kept his face schooled to his usual calm expression. He replayed their plans over and over in his mind, looking for anything he might have missed. It was essential that he learn from these kind of mistakes.

In his heart, he knew that while it was their first real loss, it would likely not be their last. He had seen enough of battles to know how these things went. He could look upon such losses with detachment if it meant they could improve in the future, though it was a bitter pill to swallow.

He suspected, however, that Ciara was not as practiced as him at dealing with defeat.

In the war room, her face had taken on the mask of coolness that she always wore. But Cullen noticed the subtle differences in her. The way her shoulders had sagged, the long breaths she kept taking to keep herself calm, the way her hand clenched the edge of the table. She kept up a brave face, but he knew firsthand the terrible toll that a real loss could take on a leader’s confidence.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Leliana, who had been walking beside him in silence down the length of the hall. “She is not taking this well.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows then smiled half-heartedly at her. “I should have known you would be able to see through her. You are a bard, after all.”

Leliana did not return his smile. Instead, she placed her hand on his arm. “Cullen, you need to speak with her.”

Cullen looked at her incredulously. “The woman can barely stand to be in the same room with me, Leliana. My presence would only upset her more.”

Leliana shook her head. “You have suffered losses such as this before. You have the experience and wisdom that she needs. It would be a greater blessing to her than empty words of comfort.”

Cullen looked at the door to the western tower, the stone steps that led up to Ciara’s private chambers. She had chosen the western tower when she first arrived, saying that she wished for quarters with the best view of the sunset. Cullen had smirked when she said that, which resulted in one of her steely-eyed looks. He had purposefully picked rooms in the eastern tower so as to wake with the dawn, a decision any military leader would understand. It was yet another difference between them and although it meant little, the accumulation of those small differences had already created a divide that neither of them particularly wished to cross.

He sighed. “Perhaps you are right, Leliana. I will…seek her out. Though…I doubt she will want to talk.”

Leliana smiled. “You may be surprised, Commander. Troubled times can forge even the strangest friendships. We are proof of that.”

Cullen made his way up the tower steps, thinking how he should approach this situation. Since their last argument, he knew Ciara merely tolerated him. While she did seek his opinion in council, especially on military matters, their conversations outside of the war room were always stiff and formal.

He lingered for a moment outside of her private chambers. The woman within could be difficult at best and completely intractable at worst. Summoning up his courage, he knocked.

“Come in.”

Her voice was the same as always, soft yet commanding. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

She stood at her window, staring out against the blackened sky, her arms crossed against her chest. She still wore the simple black robes she had worn earlier, the symbol of the Inquisition stitched into the lapels in soft grey. She had removed her gloves and let her long hair down. The breeze from the window moved against her hair and robes, revealing her bare feet.

Cullen thought fleetingly of Leliana’s ravens, perched and ready for flight.

He cleared his throat. “Inquisitor, I…wish to…speak with you.”

She sighed and turned towards him. “As you wish, Commander.”

He cleared his throat again, suddenly nervous now that she was facing him. Her grey eyes regarded him coolly. “I know what happened at Haven must be difficult for you. I wanted to offer…if I may…some...advice.”

She arched her eyebrow at that. “Advice, Commander?”

He noticed her tone, which had taken on an edge of annoyance that seemed to be reserved for him alone. He ignored it and continued. “Yes, advice. I have some experience with this sort of…thing. I know how difficult it is to deal with tactical mistakes. I urge you to do your best to rally from this loss. You cannot let it consume you.”

She uncrossed her arms and glared at him. “Tactical mistake? Is that what you just said to me?”

Cullen persisted. “Yes, Inquisitor. Whatever the consequences, it was a _tactical_ mistake. Something we must learn from to grow stronger. We cannot be defeated by such things.”

She clenched her jaw and fists at the same time. “Why not state your true intentions, _Cullen_.”

She practically hissed the final word, and it was not lost on him that this was the first time she had actually addressed him by his name. It sent a jolt of anger through him. He crossed his arms. “And what, pray, are my true intentions? You seem to know my mind better than I, after all, so please…enlighten me.”

Her cheeks flushed as she spoke. “You are here to make sure I am not writhing in self-pity…that I am not grieving or crying or doing any other untoward emotional activity that may make me susceptible to possession. That I am in _control_. That I am not, Maker forbid, acting like a human being!” She was practically shouting at him then, her bottom lip quivering in anger.

Cullen tried to interrupt. “I did not mean…”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “Damn you! Do you not think I know how to handle loss? You know nothing of the horrors I witnessed, Templar!” She turned back towards the window, crossing her arms and staring out into the night. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, though laced with bitterness. “I have lost everyone I have ever loved, few that there were, and each and every time I have been denied the solace of grief. And each time, confronted with the temptation to bring them back, to be with them forever, I have stood firm.” She started pacing, her dark robes whipping around her legs. “You cannot comprehend, Commander, cannot fathom what it is like to be deprived of the very essence of your own humanity. I cannot even weep for their loss, as my suffering would signal weakness to demons.”

She thrust out her hand, the green glow illuminating her features. She looked for a moment like a demon herself, the green light pulsating against her face. “And now I am marked with it, a sign of my connection to the Fade. Marked for all to see and fear…and despise me for it.” She shook her head, disgustedly. “Or worse, use it as an excuse to _worship_ me.”

She clenched her fist again, the green glow disappearing from the room. She dropped her arms and looked down at the floor, her eyes far away. Her voice softened, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “What I would not give for a moments peace from the Fade. For just a moment to grieve and remember all that I have lost without fear that I may be too weak to recover from it.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes full of such a deep sadness that Cullen’s breath caught in his throat. “I am a prisoner, Templar. No Circle is necessary to bind me. I will always be in a cage.”

Her eyes held his and the silence was heavy between them

When Cullen spoke, he was surprised at his own words. “I could give you that moment of peace, Inquisitor.”

Her eyes drew down in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

Cullen moved towards her. She immediately stepped back and he stopped, raising his hands. “As you say, I am a Templar, Inquisitor, or…I was. I can sever your connection to the Fade momentarily. To give you…a moment of respite. Do you wish me to try?”

She stepped back again. “You are asking my permission to…smite me?”

Cullen shook his head. “No. Well…in a sense…yes. The mage children that were brought to the tower…they were too young to control themselves and often needed my aid. Going to sleep, usually, was the most difficult for them. They sometimes required their connection severed for other reasons…when they were panicked or overwhelmed. I was…I had a talent for helping them.” He looked at her for a moment, the realization hitting him. “No Templar ever did this for you?”

She shook her head. “Our Circle was…more brutal than that.” She dropped her eyes.

Cullen silently cursed, recalling the story that she told him.

His mind drifted to Kirkwall, to the pain that had finally tore the city apart. He knew too well the brutality against mages and it sickened him. It always had, though he had never really taken a real stance against it, not until the end. Few did, save perhaps Ser Thrask, and his noble intentions had disastrous consequences.

Cullen’s shame was ever present, and the woman before him was an embodiment of that shame.

Cullen spoke softly. “I am sorry, Inquisitor. Sorry for the things you have endured. I know that you hold Templars responsible for your pain and I cannot make amends on their behalf. I can only say that I would never use violent methods against an innocent, mage or otherwise. No matter what you may think of me…I…I am no monster, Ciara.”

She looked up at him when she heard her name fall from his lips. She stated at him intently, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. Cullen shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze, his face growing warm.

After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat. “I am sorry for troubling you, Inquisitor. My intentions were only to…”

“Is it…painful?” Her voice was curious, almost excited. “How long does it last?”

He looked back up at her, surprised at her eagerness. “It is not painful, but it can be…jarring. Especially if you have never been severed from the Fade before. And it lasts as long as I will it and as long as you do not fight it.”

She cocked her head a fraction and looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you need lyrium?”

He shook his head. “No...not for this. It is simple, as long as you are…willing.”

Her eyebrows drew down as she thought about it. “I…I have often wondered what it would be like. If you truly can…I...would like to try. For…a moment.”

He nodded and approached her slowly. “It will be easier if we are seated.”

She moved quickly to her bed, her movements conveying her nervousness. She sat down near the edge, folding one foot under her as the other dangled near the floor. She looked up at him, her face alive with excitement and some trepidation. He sat down beside her, slightly uncomfortable, but trying not to show it. He knew she needed reassurance and he was determined to appear at ease.

He ignored the strange feeling of sitting so close to her in such an intimate place and turned towards her. “Give me your hand.”

She looked down at his hand, her initial excitement abating as she realized this would involve him actually touching her. She looked up at him, the fear clear in her eyes.

He softened his voice. “I will not hurt you, Inquisitor.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her usually composed face expressing her indecision.

He spoke again. “I ask for your trust.”

She chewed her bottom lip. Finally, she offered her hand to him. He held it gently, noting how it trembled. He placed his other hand over it to calm her.

Keeping his voice calm, he spoke to her again as she stared up at him, her grey eyes wide with anticipation. “Do not fight me, Ciara. I only wish to bring you peace.”

Speaking her name seemed to calm her and she nodded. He kept staring into her eyes as he let all the tension in his body release in one long breath. Then, breathing in, he felt the pull of her magic around her. He could feel his chest expanding with it, could feel it draining off of her skin into his lungs. Deeper and deeper, he pulled her essence into him. He could feel the tingling sensation as her body tried to resist, but he continued to draw it from her, pulling it into his chest, through the pores of his skin.

Her eyes widened in wonder.

He continued to pull it through his body, imagining the tendrils of her aura creeping into his nostrils, dancing around his hairline, tickling his neck. He continued pulling it from her until he felt the end of it, the final wisps of her mana firmly settled against his body. He focused on it, wrapping those tendrils into a tight knot. He could feel it winding tighter and tighter into the core of his being. When he could tighten it no further, he focused on wrapping his own essence around it, binding it in place in the center of his chest, determined to hold it there for as long as she needed him to.

He watched her, waiting for her response.

She did not blink. He felt her hand try to withdraw from his, but he held on, desperate to keep her wrapped around him, in him, through him. Though he had done this many times before, the feeling was strangely intimate with her. He felt like she was inside of him, lodged in his chest.

Finally, she blinked.

“Cullen?” She whispered his name, her voice frightened.

He felt a rush of warmth when she said his name, her voice begging for reassurance. It was so different than her previous usage, and there was small part of him that wanted to hear her say it again and again, in all the different ways her voice would allow. When answered her, his voice came out somewhat deeper and softer than usual. “I am here, Ciara. You are safe.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

He realized that saying her name felt so natural now, that the sound of her name rolled of his tongue. It was a beautiful name, and he never realized before how well it suited her.

He watched her closely. Her lip trembled and a single tear slowly fell down her cheek. “I…feel…” She closed her eyes and took a long quavering intake of breath. Her throat worked and her eyes squeezed shut. When she exhaled, the sob that escaped her almost made Cullen lose his concentration.

But he held on, held on for her. She dropped her head and wept, the sound of her terrible suffering echoing through the room. Cullen knew that sound. He knew how necessary it was. His own throat had made that sound countless times, though it was only wretched from him in the darkness when he woke alone, shivering and covered in sweat.

It was the call for all things lost, the song that was left when so little remained.

She leaned forward, and rested her cheek against his chest. He was shocked at first, his body immediately tensing up. When it became apparent that she was seeking comfort, comfort from _him_ , he felt ashamed of his initial response. He removed one of his hands from hers and awkwardly placed it on her back. He wanted to stroke her hair, but he was afraid she would pull away. Instead he, bowed his head slightly and gently pulled her closer to reassure her that he was willing to provide whatever comfort she needed. He could smell the faint scent of lilac in her hair, and he pressed his nose against it to fill his lungs with the rest of her.

Not her magic, not her mana, just…her.

She continued to cry for a while longer, her sobs eventually tapering off. Yet she stayed pressed against him, her cheek against his chest. Cullen wondered if she could hear the hammering of his heart, and briefly wished he had worn his armor to conceal it.  

After a while, her tears stopped completely and she was quiet. He expected her to pull away, embarrassed or angry. But she didn’t.

She stayed so still for such a long time that Cullen thought she may have fallen asleep.

Just as he was wondering what he should do, she spoke. Her voice was soft against his chest. “I had no idea.”

He was surprised by her words. She leaned back and he let his arm fall from her back, a tremor of regret passing through him at the loss of her warmth. She looked at him in wonder. “It…is so strange. To be…cut off in this way. To feel…the loneliness that you must feel. Without the connection to the Fade, I feel so…quiet. So…alone in my mind.” She wiped her free hand across her tear-stained cheek. “Is that how you feel, Cullen? Alone?”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her face was so close to his, her eyes so open and innocent. Part of him wanted to break their connection, to move away from her and end what was, for him at least, a very intimate experience.

But the other part of him, the secret burning part that he could never put completely to rest, wanted to reach out and touch her face, to run his thumb along her lips.

Always the tactician, he chose the middle ground. He answered, his voice rough from the truth of it. “Yes, Ciara. I often feel alone.”

She reached up tenderly and touched his cheek. He held his breath at her touch, unsure how to respond. She smiled at him then and it was the first time he had ever been on the receiving end of one of her smiles. She was a beautiful woman, her auburn hair falling around her face, her grey eyes softened in the evening light. Cullen had never seen her so open before, and realized that she spent most of her life displaying an air of cool indifference.

A part of him wanted to see her open completely and wondered if she ever could.

Her eyes brimmed with a kindness he would have never before associated with her. Her eyebrows drew down and she dropped her gaze. Cullen almost whimpered from the loss of her eyes.

As she stared down at their hands, her voice came out in a whisper. “What agony you must have known.”

Her words touched him deeply. The knot in his chest was beginning to loosen and he could feel his concentration breaking. He tried to hold onto to it, to give her the time she needed, but it was becoming almost painful as his chest began to fill with his own internal struggles.

She leaned back, seeming to sense how difficult this was becoming for him. She sighed and gave him a weak smile. “Now…I think you must let me go, Commander.”

Cullen looked down at their hands. Her words has a strange effect on him, and he felt a lump form in his throat. He wanted to say something…to thank her for…something he couldn’t quite define. For trusting him? For recognizing his isolation? For letting him see a glimpse of the woman she could be in a different world?

The words burned at the back of his throat, but he knew they would do neither of them any good. So, swallowing them down, he nodded and then slowly began to unfurl the tightness in his chest, letting her essence flow from his body back to hers.

As he watched her eyes light up at the sensation of being whole again, he felt more empty than he had in many years.

Letting her go was much harder than he had anticipated.


End file.
